


The Word From My Heart

by Natashasolten



Category: Wiseguy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:32:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natashasolten/pseuds/Natashasolten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sonny/Vinnie.  A different outcome of the episode "A Deal's A Deal."  First person Sonny point of view.  Sonny's internal dialog tries to make sense of Vinnie's ever-changing moods, as well as his own confusing emotions toward Vinnie, as they spend the evening together after the ceremony where Vinnie is "made."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Word From My Heart

THE WORD FROM MY HEART

by

Natasha Solten

 

“Give me your hand and rescue the word from my heart.”

\-- Giuseppe Ungaretti

 

Half an hour ago, me and Vinnie were standing dressed to the nines in our silk suits and embossed satin ties with the blue silk handkerchiefs (his turquoise, mine cobalt) and we were both trying to keep from cracking up during that dinosaur of a ceremony the old generation insists on when a new guy is “made.” What a fucking crock. Those old geezers arguing over whether to cut Vinnie or burn him. It was embarrassing. Vinnie’s a fucking genius. He’s not intimidated by no ancient abracadabra mumbo jumbo ritual, no matter how pompous it is.

Vinnie’s not impressed by stuff like awards. I don’t know what impresses him, really, but he sticks by me in this dump of a world, and that counts for something.

Yeah, Vinnie. That one’s a keeper. Something about him. His open hearted nature doesn’t mesh with this silver soul town, and yet he navigates her like the most brilliant pilot. He toughs her out. He does what needs to be done. He doesn’t like it and he doesn’t know I know he doesn’t like it. But that’s Vinnie. If he says he’ll get it done, he’s as good as his word. A simple philosophy, really. One I wish other men understood more often.

But now Vinnie is unusually silent on the drive home. His right hand is steady on the wheel. His left is half-curled in his lap. I don’t think he realizes it’s shaking.

That little incident after the ceremony seems to have shaken him. We were going to have a celebratory dinner in his honor. He seemed happy about that. Until the shooting. Until Joey, my star singer at the Royal Diamond, died after clipping that lunatic cop. It all happened so fast. And next thing I know Mr. Frank McPike himself, scourge of the F.B.I., is prodding me with his police special.

I watched the blood run out of Vinnie’s face. He was white as death when McPike shoved that gun at me. As if the gun was in his gut and not mine. As if he held my very life in the soul of his shocked blue eyes.

Oh, Vinnie’s acting cool now, but I know him after nine months, like I know my own reflection. His lips are tight and drawn, his eyes never flicker for one moment from the road. And he’s at the speed limit, not one mile over, every action controlled, careful, correct.

“You don’t really think McPike would’ve shot me, do ya?”

That gets a jolt from him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “No,” he replies.

“So there you have it.”

“Yeah,” Vinnie says, kinda low, kinda tight, “but Joey would’ve.”

I shrug. I’m sorry that Joey died. He died hating me, too. He was a friend. I never meant for any of this to happen. But he signed a contract. He chose to deal with me, knowing who I am. My hands were tied. Still, dealing with those crazy cops looking for extra folding money was probably stupid of me. People on the take can’t really be trusted. They are usually desperate fools who let greed or need control them. These assholes went too far. I’d deal with them myself if they both weren’t already dead. I’d do that for Joey. But now there’s nothing I can do.

Vinnie did a good job pleading Joey’s case before it all went to hell. That soft heart of his…it scares me. It’s gonna get him killed one of these days. Something inside me stabs hard when I think that. The thought of losing Vinnie, it’s like, well, unimaginable. And all of a sudden that funny feeling returns, the one I had a couple days ago when I got that belated present from Dave, that beautiful collector’s edition rifle.

I put a hand to the bridge of my nose and press.

Out the corner of my eye, I see Vinnie turn briefly and look at me, then back at the road.

Vinnie’s about as agitated as me right now. What a pair we make. Vinnie barely knew Joey, so I can tell it’s more than that bothering him. Now that I think about it, Vinnie went white before Joey, before McPike. There was no blood left in his face as he watched that crazy cop hand me the envelope with the doctored photo of McPike and Pat the Cat powwowing.

Sometimes I get this feeling that Vinnie knows more about what’s going on around us than he lets on. He gets ideas, plans, thoughts. Like he has a sixth sense. Hell, it’s great. It’s saved both our asses more than a few times. But I wonder what he’s thinking at those moments when I can’t read him. When I don’t understand the fear in his eyes, or the look he often gives me as if there is some sad road in his mind and he’s wandering down it alone, homeless as the day I met him.

It’s been a funny week. Everyone’s on my ass. I haven’t been sleeping right. And I know I’ve disappointed Vinnie with my decision regarding Joey.

Before Vinnie came along, I never used to care much if people liked my decisions or not. I’m not one to ignore good advice, but I never cared much about pleasing anyone but myself. Now, though, it’s different. Vinnie makes me want to do better. I don’t know why.

Sometimes when he looks at me with that kind of special patience of his mixed with an almost desperate worry I get this loony feeling that I gotta have his approval. I want to please him. I get this compulsion to give him more stuff, suits, watches, bonuses…most of which he refuses unless I act the role of the insulted. It’s like he’s my conscience and I’m trying to appease it.

I say, kinda soft, “Ya know, you were right about Joey, okay?”

Vinnie says nothing. His silence accuses me more than any words.

“So when I’m wrong I say I’m wrong.”

Still nothing.

“They weren’t supposed to hurt him. Just scare him.”

“I know.” Vinnie gives a slight nod.

“I let myself get cornered and everyone starts running over me.” Damn. Why do I sound so defensive now? I gotta remember. The rule is hard and fast. Ruthless.

“I get it,” he replies.

“He wasn’t supposed to die.”

“I know that.” Just like Vinnie. Soft. Placating.

But his words don’t sink in. I did what had to be done, dammit! Vinnie says he gets it, but I don’t believe he really does.

When Vinnie and I don’t mesh, when our thoughts don’t connect, I start to question things. It feels weird. Like a splinter you can’t nudge loose. Why do I need Vinnie on my side all the time? We don’t have to agree. We don’t have to share the same thoughts. But I value his input. I thrill at his approval.

I’m the boss, so why does it matter what he thinks? But he’s like some kinda fucking mirror. I look and I see stuff I wish I fully possessed. Outside the mirror, I want balance, conviction of heart, the ability to see more than two sides to a coin. Vinnie has all of that. It’s a star I’m lacking.

I turn in my seat and look at him for a long time. He doesn’t seem to mind. That black Armani suit I bought him. It’s like he was made to wear it. He let me buy it for him after refusing so many other gifts. Why did that make me so happy?

I remember months ago, another gift I tried to give him. He didn’t want that first Rolex. I had to trick him into taking it, telling him that in his position in my organization, well, it would just look funny if he didn’t wear it. I finally got him to take it when I used the words, “Indefinite loan.” He rolled his eyes at me. But he took it. And there was a kind of softness that came over his gaze, a rare affection. A look I want to steal from him. A look I crave…all the time now.

I like a puzzle. So if someone I care about, say, doesn’t like receiving gifts, then I’ll be a bully and shower them with gifts until I figure out what it is they really want. The big deal for me is when I can get him to laugh. It’s the best. That sound. It’s like a wave going right through me. And man, we have had some good times.

I don’t like the tension going on right now, though. I watch his eyes never waver. Caribbean blue. The color makes me think of warmer days and different futures. That exotic tint is capped by heavy black brows that match his glossy black hair, thick as night, and now that the day has gone by some of the usually swept-back bangs shadow his forehead in a boyish fringe. Not messy. Just loose. He’s a fucking handsome bastard, so staring at him like I catch myself doing sometimes doesn’t do me a bit of good. I start thinking things I never thought before, about myself, about my life. And about him. It’s like there’s something between us, hidden, invisible, but always there. A pull. A force. A spark?

I know he feels it, too. I’ve seen him lean into that force. I’ve seen it heat his eyes. And when I see it I get this urge to run. Not away from him. But away from it all. Away from here. And I get this funny idea that I’d grab him and take him with me. Because he really doesn’t belong here.

Fuck. Now I need a fucking drink.

I open my mouth to say just that, but Vinnie speaks before I have the chance. “Do you mind if we stop for a drink?” he asks, taking his eyes off the road, glancing at me, eyebrows raised. Our eyes meet. There is the tiniest bit of a smile on his lips.

The tension between us eases. “I was just thinking the same thing.” I let myself chuckle, but I’m still not smiling, and I say, “Let’s stop at B. Jay’s.”

“My first choice, too,” Vinnie says casually. He takes a left at the light. Two more blocks and we’re there.

Instead of sitting at the bar, we get a booth. It’s not the type of scene where we are interested in picking up girls. We’re both edgy after what happened. So we sit in the shadows and we order whiskey. I tell the waitress to leave the bottle.

I watch Vinnie take the first drink. He swallows his whiskey as if it burns all the way down and turns him on. That makes me smile, finally, and I take a sip of my own.

Vinnie sighs. “What a day, huh?”

“Yeah.” I echo his sigh. “Not so nice an ending to your special day.”

He shakes his head, takes another sip of his drink. “My special day?” The corners of his mouth twitch in the beginning of another smile.

“We should be partying right now,” I say.

He leans forward a little. “I don’t care about that.” He glances around the bar for a moment, his blue eyes sparking in the low, gold lighting. “I don’t care about being ‘made’, Sonny.” The eyes meet mine again, tentative this time.

“I know.” It’s not like I can’t read him…at least most of the time.

He sighs again. This time it’s heavy.

He’s still looking at me, but now it’s different. Now I can’t read him. “What do you care about, Vinnie?” I ask.

He glances away, then back again. “I thought….” He swallows hard.

“What?” Now I am too curious. He’s agitated, but maybe I didn’t realize how much.

He takes another drink. Voice a near-whisper, “I really thought Joey was going to kill you.”

“Not McPike, huh?” I smile, brushing off his serious tone. Because it was Frank’s gun in my gut today.

He shakes his head. “I thought you were going to die and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.”

I frown, still smiling. “So, you really care whether I live or die, eh?”

All of a sudden I feel a sharp pain in my shin. Vinnie just kicked me. Hard. Under the table. “Course I do!” he almost hisses.

“Ow!”

“Well don’t be such a…a dim-wit!”

I just sit there for a minute staring at him. “Dim-wit?” Then I say, “That the best you can do?”

He rolls his eyes. “Sonny, people are dead today.”

“Yeah. People are.”

“They’re never coming back.”

“Yeah.”

“Joey was a real talent, ya know.”

Now I frown for real. Why’s he bringing him up again? “Yeah. And I told you I’m real sorry about that.” I sit back on the wooden bench feeling the solidity of it against my back. The bar is noisy but hushed. The smell of the whiskey is pure and strong. The lights are low. And I’m staring at my conscience.

“It’s permanent, Sonny.”

What’s he getting at? I say nothing.

“Do you understand that?” Vinnie is saying. And, unbelievably, he says, “You can’t be cavalier about this.”

Until Vinnie came along, it wasn’t often I ever got the urge to appease my conscience. Buying things. Giving them away. Giving them to him. But now…. Now I just don’t feel like it. I start to get up, saying, “You can pay the tab.”

“Hey! Sonny!”

I turn slightly, looking just past him at the back of the booth. “I didn’t come here to talk about Joey or anyone else who’s dead. Go find someone else to be maudlin with.”

Vinnie grabs my wrist, not hard but enough to stop me. “I’m not talking about Joey. I’m talking about you.”

I stand, shake off his hand.

He says, a little too loud, “I don’t want to see you die!”

A couple in the next booth turns and looks at us.

I put my hand on the edge of the table, feeling the rough texture, the varnished wood still a little sharp, but soft enough not to cut. I glance back at him. He flicks his eyes away, picks up the bottle and pours more whiskey into my glass.

Vinnie makes a gesture with his hand as if he wants me to sit back down. “C’mon.”

What he wants…I still haven’t figured it out. But he’s irresistible.

He presses his mouth into a scowl. “And I will pay the tab.”

I sit back down. I grab my glass, take a swallow, then say, “What is it with you, Vinnie?”

“I care. So sue me.”

“Sue you for what?”

“Caring too much about you.” He takes a quick drink.

Something unexpected quickens inside me at those words. Whatever is between us flares up bright and wavering again, that heat we’re both guilty of leaning into, that strange pull we never speak of.

I stare at my drink. I can’t think of anything to say.

“I almost lost you today, Sonny.”

“One minute you’re blaming me for Joey…”

Vinnie interrupts. “Joey signed a contract. He knew what he was getting into.”

“I keep telling you over and over. I’m sorry he had to die,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Me, too, but I’m not talking about blame. I’m not talking about him.”

I lift my eyes to Vinnie’s.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says quietly.

His eyes are so open right now, so blue. My heart stops. For a few seconds I can’t breathe because of that look. What is it? I must be outta my mind. Because it looks like total devotion, and after today I’m thinking maybe total disappointment might be more appropriate.

I don’t know what to say, but my mouth opens and out come words. “You’re not gonna lose me, Vinnie.”

When he looks at his drink, fingering the lip of the low, wide glass, he looks so sad. Like he’s on that road in his mind again. Alone. Unhappy. Like he’s going somewhere I can’t see.

“Hey,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He downs the rest of his drink and pours himself another finger’s width.

“It’s a dangerous business,” I say. “I don’t gotta tell you that.”

He nods slowly.

Even without looking at me, I can see his eyes are flickering. Something’s really up with him. Something has him cornered. I’ve been so self-centered all this time, feeling cornered myself by Patrice, Mahoney, Joey, all the decisions I’ve had to make lately that are making me feel unwise, pissed off, trapped. And all this time Vinnie’s been feeling the same things but for different reasons.

Maybe I haven’t been paying enough attention to him. Maybe we need to go do something fun, just the two of us. Maybe I need to spend time just…what? Being with him? Shit. Fuck. Sometimes I just want to breathe him. But that doesn’t sound quite right.

His hands are on the table, half curled. Why do I want to grab them? And his hair, that glossy darkness, thick, glistening. Right now his bangs hang loose on his forehead and all I want to do is take my palm and smooth them back. What’s up with that?

Okay, Sonny, I think to myself. You’re fucking losing it.

Very softly, I hear myself say, “Vincenzo.”

He glances up with that too-often vulnerable look he has like he’s been caught stealing a cookie. I just look at him for a few seconds. His brows narrow. Then I say, “Wanna order a pizza?”

“Pepperoni?” He looks a little confused. I know he expected me to say something a little more profound.

“Sure. Whatever you want. It’s supposed to be your night.”

He smiles grimly, makes a noise like a short sarcastic laugh. “Whatever I want….” He looks at the wall for a moment.

I watch him, feeling a strange fluttering in my stomach. Then I signal the waitress and order the pizza. I also order Cokes. And a side of hot wings. I realize I’m fucking starving.

After I order, he looks at me again, lips flat but a kind of smile still wavering in his eyes.

“Vinnie, you know whatever you want, I’ll always give it to you. You know that.”

He takes a slow sip of the whiskey. Down it goes again, the slow burn showing in his gaze. I like to watch him drink it. Then he says, “Yeah, Sonny, but why?”

I shrug, feel myself go a little tight. “I dunno.”

He looks a bit exasperated.

I add, “Maybe it’s because you don’t want anything. You seemed to want to come work for me, but…. Maybe it’s my way of trying to figure you out.”

He smiles at that.

“Or maybe I just like giving things to people.”

He nods.

“Or maybe….” I don’t finish. I don’t really know what I was going to say. I like to tease him sometimes. I grin at him. His smile widens. He’s a real good sport. When we go to the gym to work out, he’s always letting me pummel him in the ring, or holds the bag while I practice my punches. He spots me on weights without ever having to be asked. He lets me take the lead. Have my way. Always. Is it only because I’m the boss?

So maybe that’s why. Maybe it’s me trying not to be the boss, trying to give something back. He grabs his drink again. My gaze catches the gold Rolex glistening on his wrist. He was made to wear it. It’s the second one I’ve bought him. I’m not even sure he knows it cost twice what the first one cost. If I thought he freaked out over the first one, the second one was even harder to convince him to take. But he wears it all the time. That’s something.

This stuff about Vinnie confuses me. He’ll act all savvy. He’ll pretend he’s on the phone sometimes with some bookie. But doesn’t he realize how transparent he is? He doesn’t want money. A guy who doesn’t want money doesn’t gamble. And the money I pay him? As far as I can tell, he never spends it. And he doesn’t have a girlfriend ever since that mess with Gina. I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing with it, but it’s not drugs, it’s not hookers, and it’s definitely not bookies.

What the fuck does he want?

Vinnie leans forward, elbows on the table. “A guy like you, Sonny, do you figure on the future? Do you think about stuff like…” He stops.

“Actually, I’ve always thought I’d die before I was forty.”

He leans back a little, almost sheepish. “Me, too.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, then quote him, “’a guy like me’.”

Softly, he adds, “Like us.”

I didn’t expect that coming from him. It’s rather nice since I always think in terms of ‘us’. Us versus them. Us taking New York. Us against the world. Vinnie and me as a unit. It just works. Out loud, I just say, “Yeah.”

He sighs. “And that’s okay with you?”

“I didn’t say it was okay.”

“But you accept it.”

“I don’t have a death wish. But we’re all gonna die some time, Vinnie.” And now this is getting way too maudlin again. I guess I understand why. Today has been a comic-tragedy running out of control. Vinnie thought for sure I was a dead man this time. Vinnie’s deep that way. He takes on the dark. Then he broods.

I’m certainly not drunk enough for this. I take a big swallow of my whiskey.

In a way I’m flattered. His brooding is concern. The theme is me.

What do you want, Terranova?

Then there’s another voice in my head. Softer. More fleeting. Sounds like the new ‘made’ guy. What do you want, Steelgrave?

I look around to see if the pizza is coming. I’m thinking real hard about pizza. I’m hollow. I’m hungry.

Luckily, the hot wings arrive with the Cokes. I grab one and start in. Vinnie is more patient. He doesn’t grab for any. Yet. He pours some of his Coke into his whiskey glass, and takes another drink. I know he likes it that way. He’s fixed drinks like that for us in his suite sometimes when we stay up late together watching TV, talking about the day.

Food makes things between us easier, better. We start eating and talking, casually. Like when is it going to snow…tonight or tomorrow night? Or how that other waitress, the one that’s not ours, is actually both our type, brunette and smooth-edged and sassy but not too bold. Vinnie and I don’t always go for the same type, but more often than not we’re in agreement. He likes them a little more sweet and shy. I like them a little more forward and knowing what they want. But there’s that happy medium where we both fall for that little smart and sweet.

We’re laughing now, when the pizza comes, enjoying comparing our tastes but with no pressure for the pursuit…or even competition. We’ve never really competed for women, though. It hasn’t come up. But if we did, unless all they wanted was money, hands down I know he’d win.

So I tell him that half-way through my first slice. He looks at me like I’m fuckin’ nuts.

“You don’t believe me? Let’s test it.”

He frowns. “Sonny, shit….”

I signal our waitress. “End of the world,” I say to her. “And there’s only the two of us left, and you. Which one?”

She frowns, then grins. “Which one of you is leaving the tip?”

Vinnie laughs.

I say, “He’ll win every time, hands down. He doesn’t believe me. But look at him.”

She leans toward me, brown eyes sparkling. “Shut up! I’d take you both. And at the same time.”

Vinnie starts to choke. I start to chuckle way deep down. “You just earned yourself a big tip.” Then I wink at Vinnie, who’s in the middle of swallowing more Coke mixed with whiskey to appease his throat.

He gulps hard, coughs. “Bastard!”

Me and Vinnie. We know how to have a good time. And true to my word, Darcy, our server, gets probably the biggest tip of her life.

Vinnie says, swallowing a big bite of hot pizza, “You’re certifiable, you know.”

“Certifiable? Or a dim-wit? Make up your mind.”

He just smiles around another bite of cheese, pepperoni, sauce and crust. And I smile back, knowing what he wants. At least right now. Hot pizza…one of the best this town as to offer. Like me, he’s got good taste all right.

Two grown men who’ve been through a hell of a day have no trouble making their way through hot wings and pizza in record short time. When we’re done there’s nothing but bones and crumbs. The booze is half gone. The happy waitress keeps calling us ‘hon’. And Vinnie’s got his color back.

It’s a relief.

*

“Crescent moons wearing Santa hats,” I say. I don’t recall how we got started on the subject. Maybe because all the stores and restaurants seem to be decorating earlier and earlier every year.

The subject: Favorite Christmas ornaments from childhood. We’d gone through the toy cars, drums and miniature train sets. Vinnie’s favorite, though, was a Santa in a leather jacket. Figures. I tell him his brother’s favorite was probably Santa in a priest’s collar. He laughs. “No way.” Then tells me about the wild period Pete went through when he got a beat up motorcycle at age 17 and crashed it into a tree. And all to impress a girl. Pete survived both the crash and almost being murdered by a freaked out Carlotta. The bike didn’t. Then he looks at me sheepishly. “Believe it or not, I was the good boy. Straight A’s. No crashes.”

“Yeah, but I do believe it.” I’m grinning. Because Vinnie has a felony record…and it just doesn’t seem right.

He’s driving slow through the now early evening streets, headed home the long way. I say nothing about his route. I like driving with him. I like how he handles the Porsche, smooth as sailing, reverent to a car that is rivaled only by the playmate of the year in most guys’ wet dreams.

“So did your childhood tree come decorated with little machine guns and overcoats?”

I raise my chin, pretending to be insulted. “My mother would never have allowed it.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

I huff. “My mom was really good at denial. She refused to ever talk about what my father was into. Sometimes they fought. Maybe it was about that.” I shrug.

“Ever think of doing anything else?” he asks, a little too quietly.

I watch him for a moment but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Sure. But none of them included owning a casino.” Then I laugh. “Or meeting some very interesting people.”

“Like the Zharatso brothers?”

“Hey, I made a ton of money off those deadbeats.”

“I know you did.”

“And, well, I never would’ve met you, Vinnie.”

For reasons I cannot guess, that makes him bristle. Under his breath, he says something like, “Lucky you.”

“You’ve been an asset to me.”

We pull into the garage and next to the private elevator. Vinnie is silent.

I remove my seatbelt, then lean forward, clasping his shoulder. “Vinnie, I am lucky. You’ve saved my life enough times. Hey, anyway, what would I do without you?”

He’s very still, staring straight ahead. Then he bends his head and runs both hands hard, almost tugging, through his thick hair. I hear him sigh. There are times when I think he’s about to tell me something…something he’s never told anyone, maybe something really profound. But then he always stops short and finds some excuse to leave the room, go off alone somewhere doing whatever it is he does. This is one of those times.

I don’t want to scare him off, so I pretend I don’t notice. “C’mon,” I say. I move to get out of the car. “Let’s go watch a movie or something.”

He shifts to look at me, brows narrowed. I turn my head back toward him, smile, nodding a little. He says, “I…I….”

“C’mon, Vinnie.” I pitch my voice low, in a tone that is clearly not an order, just a personal request. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Finally, he lets out a small laugh, then shakes his head and looks at me like he just can’t believe me. But I don’t understand. I haven’t said anything really odd. And I’m being damned nice if I do say so myself.

I look away and get out of the car. I don’t turn to glance back, I just move toward the elevator. When the doors open, I enter. I don’t have to look to know. He smells like Drakkar. And I can feel him. Vinnie is right behind me.

When we get to the penthouse I take off my suit jacket and lay it on the back of a chair. “Want another drink?” I ask.

He nods. Without having to be asked, he takes off his jacket and places it next to mine, then loosens his tie. For some reason that makes me feel good. I like having him around. I like him to be comfortable around me. I’m not always the boss. I’m a person, too. But most people can’t get that through their skulls.

I move behind my living room bar, take out two glasses and set them on the counter. Vinnie comes over and perches on one of the barstools, elbows on the countertop, and leans in. “Let’s have wine,” he suggests.

I turn and look at him. Fuckandhell. I can’t read him again even though he’s giving me that damned ‘open’ look.

I cock my hip against the counter edge. “Red or white?”

He closes his eyes, raises his hands in front of his face and casually clasps them, then leans his chin into his fists. “Red.”

There’s this little thrill that washes right through my stomach. I stare at him for a moment, then say, “I have just the thing.” And I do. Okay, so I’ve been saving it for a special occasion, but, well, Vinnie’s special, so….

I go to the far cupboard, down low. There’s a lot of wines in there, but the best one is toward the back. It’s a little dusty. And a lot expensive. But it’s perfect.

I pour it into two goblets and hand him one. He looks at it for a moment, then tastes. I’m watching his mouth move as he sips. I don’t know why. But damn, I just can’t look away. When he swallows he sets the glass down, looks at me, then at the bottle. He grabs it, reads the label for a moment, then stares back at me. “Jesus, Sonny.”

Okay. So he knows a little about wine. It’s worth at least two grand. But I can afford it. I pick up my goblet, tap it against his in a toast. “Congratulations on being ‘made’.” And I drink.

“Thanks.” Vinnie takes another sip. He smiles, says, “I didn’t feel too drunk to drive home, but now I’m thinking I was.”

“We’re here in one piece.” I come around the counter, grab the bottle and my glass and head for the couch.

Vinnie gets up. He’s all loose in his body now, his eyes glimmering with anything but sadness. Maybe he is a little drunk. But I like him that way, comfortable-looking, easy, fun.

We sit on my couch but we don’t put on a movie. Instead, we drink more wine and talk. We’ve done this before, but we don’t do it enough. And it’s so good to just sit here kinda sprawled, taking the time off, and just laugh and blurt out stuff that’s not important. Stuff about New York, about old times, about school… Our childhoods were remarkably similar with the exception that he did his homework while I was a goof-off. But I still got Bs. And I got in about as much trouble as his priest brother, while Vinnie stayed cool, unmarked, in the dappled shadows of the few trees that are left in Brooklyn.

Turns out Pete’s my age, four years older than Vinnie. He was the hellion. Maybe that’s why Carlotta was so hard on Vinnie. He was the good one, the smart one, the prodigal son. I look at him seeing the open face, the soft heart of him that scares me for him because my world is not soft, my heart is not clean, and I realize he was her hope for something better, something really good. And then it’s his brother that goes off to become a priest and Vinnie who…well, right now Vinnie’s ended up here, with me. And I’m the one who feels lucky.

I need another drink and pour myself more wine, then top off Vinnie’s glass.

Yeah, lucky I am, but I still can’t figure it out. Figure him out. Why is he here? I need him, and at first I thought he needed me. But he’s so smart, so capable. He doesn’t need me. Not if it’s not money he’s after, or power, or the rep. At first maybe he needed a hand up. Maybe. But now when I look back, even for that I’m not so sure. He’s tough. He’s definitely got agendas. Something going on. Something he wants.

Feeling a little drunk myself, I say, “I can’t figure you out, Vinnie.”

“What?” He tilts his head, still smiling lazily.

“I guess I never have figured out what it is you really want.”

Still smiling, his eyes kinda hazy, he says, “Maybe it changes. Maybe what I wanted before isn’t the same thing I want now.”

“What about right now?”

He glances away, smile turning into a half-grin. “Are you plying me with this expensive wine to find out?”

I lift my glass to him. “Maybe.” And drink.

“Well, what do you want, Sonny?”

“I got everything I want, right?”

“Do you?”

“Maybe there are things I wish were different.”

“Like what?”

I like that Vinnie is forward. Most people aren’t with me. He’s upfront. He’s usually pretty unself-conscious about telling me what’s on his mind. And he gives me perspective. His point of view forces me to consider more deeply the decisions, actions, even feelings I might not have given a second thought to before I met him.

I often find myself thinking, Who is this guy?

I say, out loud, “Like what? Ya wanna know? Well, for one, I wish Dave were still alive.”

“Oh, well… yeah.” He nods slightly as if he knew what I was going to say before I said it.

“You know, when we went to that meeting…when me and Dave got shot, I was real pissed at him. It was because I was afraid for him. He made stupid decisions. He killed a cop. It was totally unnecessary, but believe it or not Dave had a temper worse than mine. He was hot under the collar. Not too bright about certain things. I’d been calling the shots in our organization since I got there.”

Vinnie is looking at me intently, listening the way you might if someone is spilling their heart out to you. Well, maybe I am.

I keep talking. “People always thought because he was the older brother, the number one Steelgrave, that he was the boss. But I called the shots. He was good at back up and he knew it. I ran that place. I’ve run the casino since I was 25. Dave was good at numbers, did a lot of the bookkeeping, that kind of thing, but he liked to get into real dirty deals. And he wasn’t good at forward-thinking the outcome of some of those deals. If you’re gonna be anybody successful at this kind of work, you have to be not only smart about the deal, but ahead of it, figuring out all the angles where it can go wrong and put in contingency plans for each outcome. I’m good at that. Maybe I have a good imagination or whatever it takes. Dave knew that. So he deferred to me.”

Vinnie lets a smile play around his lips when he says, “But Sonny, even you can’t predict every angle. Like today.”

A pang of regret stabs my gut. All of a sudden I feel weird. It’s Vinnie. He’s doing it. Making me think too hard, think with my heart instead of my head. “I made some dumbass mistakes lately, okay. I know I need to get it together, get tougher. Mack got on my ass for it, so I don’t need you doing it, too.”

“I’m not on you about that, Sonny. Don’t you get it? I don’t want….” Suddenly he stops. He sighs heavily. It is interesting that he interrupts himself right on that word: ‘Want.’

What do you want, Vinnie? What don’t you want?

So I complete the sentence. “Yeah, yeah. You don’t want to see me die.” I lean my elbows on my knees and look at him. “Then what would you do? You’d be out of a job, right?”

He shrugs.

“Hell, maybe you’d inherit the place.”

When I say that, he gets this almost hurt look in his eyes. I’m being stupid. He’s trying to tell me the stuff of his heart, and I pretend not to know. What kind of friend am I, really? Do I even know how to be that to someone…to anyone? But it’s hard for me to accept, to believe, that whether I live or die has such an impact on him. Well, maybe not. We’ve become pretty close lately. But it’s me who depends on him. Me who can’t imagine lately doing anything without him. He’s along for the ride. But that’s all it is, right? A ride. Until something else comes along. Because I know he doesn’t really love this job. I know it because I feel it. He doesn’t love the job. So that would mean, then, that what he does love is....

I need another fucking drink. Because I can’t figure this out. I can’t figure out why, when we’re together, odd stuff like this keeps coming into my mind. Stuff about Vinnie, stuff I’d never think about another guy, another guy friend. Dammit. Sometimes I just want to sink back into the experience of life, of everything, and with him always there at my side. Always. Like…like a shadow. Or something.

I don’t know. I don’t know.

Oh hell, there’s that devoted look in his eyes again. And I can’t take it. But I want to take it.

What does Vinnie want? What do I want?

I can’t say…yet.

Vinnie says, softly, “Sonny, I don’t want your place.”

Things change, Vinnie said before. The things you think you want you later find out aren’t always the things you really want. Or something comes along and interrupts your path. Something bigger than the original plan.

I swallow more wine. It really is good, but it’s going down my throat without me tasting it. Rather a waste, except it packs a punch. I need that right now.

Vinnie fingers his Rolex for a moment, running his fingers over the smooth, solid gold band. “I know why you gave me the first one. But why this second one?”

I stare at the watch on his wrist. It looks real good on him. Flashy but classic, refined. “What, you don’t like it?”

He looks a little chagrined, then says softly, “I love it.”

I shrug because I don’t know how to say, really, why I like giving him stuff. “Good, then that’s why.”

“Because you thought I’d love it?”

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. “Yeah.”

“But it’s just not, you know, an ordinary type of gift.”

“Well, you’re not ordinary.”

He sits on that one for awhile. “You make me change my mind about a lot of things.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re so good to me.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? You’re good for me.” Are we really having this odd conversation?

I can excuse it because we’re both drunk. Well, that’s my excuse anyway.

“Yeah, Sonny, so it seems. But where’s your contingency plan where I’m concerned. Huh? Are you thinking ahead about me? What if I’m not able to be what you think I am or should be?”

“Huh?” Now I am confused.

“It’s like you’re careful about so much, about everything, really, except me.”

“I should be careful about you? Why?” And there is a little tiny feeling starting in my gut like nerves, like…panic.

“Because maybe you don’t see me clearly enough. Maybe you’re a little blurry around the edges where I’m concerned.”

Blurry. Now that’s a weird word. What, I need fucking glasses to see Vinnie correctly? He’s just Vinnie. He’s a little too perfect. That’s all. Perfect in every way, I might add. I fucking love him and if that makes me blurry, well, maybe it’s impolite of him to point it out. Fuck!

Finally, I say, “Shut up. Just shut up.” But my tone is soft. There’s no edge. It doesn’t scare him away. It just makes him go quiet.

But he keeps looking at me that way.

I frown, uncomfortable suddenly in my own body, but also feeling strangely alone, like there’s something I’m missing. “I don’t see you clearly?” I mutter. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

“You don’t trust easily, Sonny. Why me?”

“When did this conversation deteriorate?” I ask suddenly. I clamp down on the feeling in my gut.

Vinnie swallows, says nothing.

“You’ve proven your worth. Over and over,” I finally answer. “What, you don’t think I know you?”

Vinnie’s small smile fades. He glances quickly away. Okay, so there is something. And he wants to tell me. It’s thick in the air between us.

I don’t want to scare him. He means too much to me. I lean back. Put my hand out between us on the couch, but I don’t touch him. I just let it rest there on the white leather, palm up. I keep my voice level, steady, soft. “What is it, Vinnie? Just tell me.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he says abruptly.

I watch him. He fiddles with his watch. “Okay, you gotta be a little more specific than that.”

All of a sudden he takes off the watch. He places it in my upturned palm. I lean up, shocked. The only time Vinnie ever gives back watches is when he’s leaving. Quitting.

My fingers fold around the slick cold gold. The underside of the band is still warm from his skin. “Vinnie, you were just ‘made’. You don’t get to just undo that.”

He looks back toward the bar, sighs. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” he replies.

“You don’t just quit.” I sound pissed. But really I’m freaked. My throat is strangely dry.

Vinnie still doesn’t look at me. He just laughs. It’s not a fun sound, though. It’s filled with ghosts. “Everyone thinks they own a piece of me.”

“You mean me?”

Now he turns to look at me. There’s a wry look there, both pain and amusement. “I mean everyone. Those guys at the ceremony…what does that mean to them now? That I’m one of them? That I can be called upon to do them any favor, defend them, justify them, like them?” He lets out a puff of air in disgust. “And my brother, always trying to be the moral guide. And my mother. Does she think she’s God, that she gets to punish me for things she doesn’t even begin to comprehend? Telling me how to think, how to be, how to live…. Then there’s…. And then you….” He trails off.

Vinnie’s good at speeches, but I never heard anything like this come from him before.

My mind is spinning. I’m trying to think if I have mistreated him at any point lately. I know he’s disappointed about Joey, about all of today. But he doesn’t seem mad. I start to ask, “Have I done…?”

Immediately, he interrupts. “Why do you trust me, dammit!” His teeth are gritted.

My lips flatten. I lift my chin. “Vinnie.” I hold out the watch. “I have no reason not to.”

He just shakes his head. His eyes are worried-looking now, glassy. We’re both drunk. Aren’t we? I hear his breath catch in his throat. “Jesus, Vinnie.” Without thinking I grab his hand, try to put the watch back into it. But he grabs it and throws it hard toward the front door. Then he grabs my hand, turns and says, “You don’t know. Sonny, you don’t know anything!”

I’ve never seen him so agitated except maybe over Gina, or over his cousin’s death. “Hey,” I say. I just want him to be fine again. “Okay. I don’t know anything.”

But he’s not listening. He’s twisting his hand, tightening his grip. He’s really squirming now. His head bows toward his lap. Softly, “What if? What if Sid was right?”

Sid. Sid that fuckup. Sid my least favorite guy on earth right now, followed only by McPike. But Sid? Why is he bringing him up?

Fear tangles my gut again. “Sid say something to you? Do something?”

Vinnie shakes his head silently.

“Vinnie?”

“I don’t want to do this anymore!” he gasps.

“Okay.” I think and think, but my mind is frozen. I don’t know what’s happening. But it’s Vinnie. I gotta follow this to its end. “Then what do you want, pal?”

“What I want.” A short laugh. Pained. “Here’s what I want.” He still doesn’t lift his head. “I want to take you away from here. I want you to take us far away from here.”

I just sit very still. I’m not comprehending all of this yet. Or maybe I am, but I’m telling myself I’m not because I can’t take it all in so fast.

Now Vinnie lifts his head, looks at me. That open gaze. That heart of him that scares the devil outta me. “I don’t want to lose you.”

I can see the love in his eyes. Okay. I can see it. I’m not in denial anymore. It’s weird, but it’s all right. Because I have this urge to just grab him. And I can’t begrudge him his heart if my own is like some dark mirror to it.

I don’t know what to say. I open my mouth. “I know.” Two words. I didn’t expect to say them. But they are more about the truth than anything I’ve ever said to anyone.

“So?”

“So….” I echo.

“So, the one thing I want. It’s the one thing you can’t give, right?” Vinnie says, sounding rather dejected. His eyes stray to the gold watch lying on the floor by the front door.

I say, “Well, you never asked before. So you never gave yourself the chance to find out.” I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m still confused.

Vinnie’s eyes widen, then he frowns. “I’d never ask…”

“And what do you mean what if Sid was right? Right about what?”

He looks away.

Something niggles at my brain. I try to smash it away with a thought. No, this is not about the first time Vinnie threw away a Rolex. It’s not about that conversation! Not the one where Sid found Vinnie’s driver’s license from Quantico. Not that one. I’m not stupid, but I refuse….

“Vinnie?” But he won’t look at me.

Vinnie says things change. Vinnie says he doesn’t want to do this anymore. Vinnie says what he wanted before and what he wants now aren’t the same thing.

I can’t ask it. I just can’t. But under my breath it comes. A whisper. An edge of a nightmare that can’t be real. A dashed hope. Obliteration. “You’re a cop.” I mouth the words. I don’t give them any volume. Because the destruction of faith is like that. It takes your heart, your soul, your mind away. It stops your voice.

Still, I know he hears me. I wait for him to deny it but he doesn’t. And that’s when I can’t breathe anymore. That’s when I feel all of it, Joey’s rage, McPike’s gun hard in my gut, Vinnie’s disapproval, Sid’s glare, Mack’s admonishments. You can’t afford to appear soft. Not ever!

But right now the words in my heart aren’t hard. They aren’t harsh. I don’t feel ruthless. I’m not quick. I’m not cold. “But…but I loved you….” I can’t hear myself. I don’t know how I sound.

A voice inside that sounds like it’s much more ‘me’ says, Fuck love. Because the ache of it is cold. The pain is harsh. And it’s far too real.

Vinnie looks up. He grabs at my hand as I pull it away. I move back. I can’t see. I can’t think. My chest is exploding. He’s a cop. He’s a cop.

I stand up and move quickly to the wall by the plate glass windows. I lean there. I think I’m shaking. I don’t know. And God, yet again, Vinnie is so right! I don’t know anything.

It’s only seconds before I feel him, hands on my shoulders. I feel myself turning, my hands forming into fists, blind, choking, accusing. “Why are you doing this?!” I think I hear myself now. It really doesn’t sound like me.

Vinnie pushes me up against the wall. He’s fierce. He’s strong and he’s all around me and I am trapped. Confined. “Because I don’t want to do it anymore! I can’t!”

I try to pull away, but there’s the wall and then there’s Vinnie who’s also like a wall. He’s breathing hard against the side of my face. Hot. “Please. I care, Sonny. I want….” His voice sounds shaken. “Let’s go away from here!”

So, he thinks he gets to play cop and then ask me that?

I feel like I’m in pieces. It doesn’t matter that I’ve had that same thought. Or maybe it’s all that matters. What do I know? I push against him but he’s pressed hard to me, his body matching mine, heavy, purposeful, powerful. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t! And Vinnie is whispering against my temple, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The question is: do I believe him?

But it’s all Vinnie I see now. Amazingly, I can’t see the cop. I can’t see anything else. What’s wrong with me? It’s like he’s coming into me, the heat of him, the strength, the heart. His hips are up against mine. His chest is heaving in rhythm with mine. His cheek is pressing my cheek. I can’t escape him. There’s no exit. No more room. No more Sonny Steelgrave.

Just me. And him.

I hear myself gasp out, “Fuck!” Then my head bows, my face is in his chest. It’s warm, surrounding me. His heart is beating so that means mine is, too. I’m drunk. I’m dreaming. These explanations must be the reason for all of this. I’m still struggling for breath as his hand moves under my chin, forcefully lifting it.

That scouring kiss. At first there is no sense to it. No rhyme. No time.

But I’ll never forget it. I can’t help it. There’s not even a tiny bit of control here. This is my broken world now. This is another life. I push into it. Devoured.

Vinnie. Vinnie.

When he pulls back for air, his hand comes up from my chin, brushes my face. I realize my cheek is wet. Vinnie whispers, “Where’s your contingency plan for this?”

I just stare at him, at this man who is my conscience. My shadow self.

I find I have a voice again. I can breathe. Strange. It’s like his kiss has cleared the path. Rescued me. I blink once, then say, my voice shaky, but my teeth gritted, “Okay, smart guy.” I inhale hard. “You want a plan?”

He gulps, looks a little scared. “Yeah. I do.”

“We’ll go away. Okay?” I’m still breathing hard. “Okay?” I hold his gaze steady with my very will. I can’t believe myself. But hadn’t I been thinking this very thing today?

Vinnie frowns, presses harder into me. “I don’t believe you. You’re just saying that so I’ll let you go. And then you’re gonna kill me.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t expect you to believe me. Why should you?” I hold his gaze. “Because I never told you before…but I’ve always wanted to go where the ocean matches your eyes.”

Warmer days. Better futures.

“Wh…what?” It’s like all the muscles in his face go slack. It’s shock. I’m real good at doing that to people.

I lean forward now. This is not a kiss. More like my mouth possesses his. I clutch his back. I don’t know where I end and he begins.

He makes a small sound, like surprise. But then he’s kissing me back like no one’s ever kissed me before.

And I don’t know, now, how much time has passed. But my knees are starting to give way. There is, simply, nothing left of me. Not even bone to hold me up.

Vinnie’s right. I don’t know anything. I’ve forgotten it all.

But he’s very strong. Maybe stronger than I ever gave him credit for. His hands are under my arms. He’s keeping me upright. Him and the wall.

Finally he pulls back. I stumble toward him, bereft without that weight against me. He catches me. I look at him, at his beautiful face, and suddenly he’s grinning.

“Sonny,” he says softly, accusingly. “Can’t you stand?”

Well fuck! Who can stand after being destroyed?

Scowling. Tripping, wobbling…God so drunk on him…I manage to tug him down the hall. Or maybe he’s tugging me. Who cares? We find my bed. That’s what matters. We climb upon it; he climbs on me. I lie back, shaking, as he starts with my shirt and tie. I think he’s laughing at me. Then not. Slowly, carefully, he undresses me. The light from the hall gives a glow to his eyes. I can read him again. He’s unbelievably fucking crazy for me. The sparkle in his look. Not disappointment. No. Devotion.

It’s a special night. Vinnie’s night. We shoulda been celebrating. Partying. None of that matters anymore.

He puts both hands alongside my face, kisses me softly, then deeper. He runs his hands over my now naked body. I can’t feel anything but the burn of those hands. I think I’m trembling. I’m out of my fucking mind. “Sonny,” he says softly. He pulls me to him. I go willingly; like I’m fucking boneless. “Ah fuck. What is this that I can want you so much?”

All I can think is: Vinnie wants me? Vinnie wants me….

When he finally lets me back down, his hands are all over my body. Then his mouth. It’s all I want. My heels are digging into the bedspread. My knees are bent; he parts them. I am so open. Fuck. I don’t care. I don’t care.

He covers me with his mouth. It’s so hot. Wet. On me. Pulling. I thrust. I can’t help it. Vinnie. Vinnie. His hands are under me, on my ass, encouraging me, holding me, encasing me. Spreading me. Touching me. I think I’m sobbing. I think I’m fucking…certifiable. In my delirium, I truly believe Vincent Terranova is making love to me.

It’s all too much. I’m overwhelmed. Then there’s this sound. It’s me calling out. Calling his name. I’m coming. It’s a force that tears right through me. It’s a rush like I’ve never felt with anyone else in my life.

I’m fucked up. I’m shattered. I’m crazed. There’s a wildness released that I can never take back. But Vinnie’s holding onto me. Holding on tight.

It takes time for me to breathe right again. But he’s very patient. And he doesn’t seem to mind me grabbing at him, clutching.

He whispers into my ear, “Yeah right, such a tough guy.” And I think I’m embarrassed, but then I’m not. Because I am tough, dammit. Always have been.

Until now.

Vinnie nuzzles my neck, rubbing against me. He’s so hard and he’s so sweet. I still have trouble believing in this reality. And I’m starting to not be able to breathe again.

Somewhere he’s lost his pants – I think I tore them – but his unbuttoned shirt still brushes my sides, hanging like a veil over me from his shoulders. I put my hands around his waist. His skin is like satin, smooth and slightly damp. He’s moving against me like ungodly paradise incarnate.

I cannot control my moans.

My legs embrace him. Instinctively, I rock back.

Take what you want, Vinnie. It’s yours. All yours. I’m giving it to you. Anything you want. It has always been that way. Even when I didn’t know why. From the very beginning. You can have everything.

I arch up against him.

Softly, in my ear, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I want to laugh. Like he could ever hurt me.

I reach into my top bedside drawer, managing to still hang onto him in the process. It’s good stuff. I’ve used it before, but never with a guy.

“You can use this.” I hand him what he needs. What he wants. Lean back on the soft pillows. Hugging his lean waist with my knees.

He doesn’t have to be taught. He seems to know what to do. Now one hand is gently on me, slick, loving, arousing, then moving further down, his fingers inside me. I’m so fucking turned on I don’t know up from down. In disbelief, I realize my cock is hardening again. I think I’m gonna come apart. I need him that bad. I need to really feel him.

He looks at me with an intensity that is starry…what I mean is he makes me see stars. He’s so open, so…Vinnie. He’s flushed and breathing in little gasps. His skin is silken, taut, trembling. Fucking gorgeous.

Just as I think that, he says, “Christ, Sonny….”

I reach between us and stroke him. Guide him. He gasps.

“Now I know what you want,” I whisper, and it’s beautiful when he gently presses into me, all my breath suddenly gone. I force myself to relax to make room for him. There’s no pain. I’m not surprised. I knew there wouldn’t be with him. He’s too perfect. We’re always a perfect team.

“But what do you want, Sonny?” He’s starting to breathe hard.

I clutch at his arms and rock my hips.

He shuts his eyes, bends over me, kisses me on the lips softly, and starts to move.

I am undone.

What do I want?

I already have it.

(end)

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this work by Natasha Solten, you may also enjoy her m/m romances on Kindle under her non-fanfic name: Wendy Rathbone. Look for "The Foundling," "The Secret Sharer" and the soon to be released "None Can Hold the Dark" (due in fall 2013.) She also has an sf novel out, and a collection of poetry.


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